


Why

by RyanTyler2294



Category: Traitor Game - B. R. Collins
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 15:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyanTyler2294/pseuds/RyanTyler2294
Summary: Francis wants to know why Michael did this.





	Why

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Capercally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capercally/gifts).



> I know I promised this fic a loooong time ago, but I hope you still enjoy it.   
> Let me know what ya think ^^

“At least that’s what Thompson says.”

The world stood still as seconds ticked by and Francis processed what was said to him. “That’s what Thompson said.”

He felt himself spin around to face Shitley before he could stop himself. He lost his balance for a second and caught himself. Anyone could tell that he had stumbled, but that wasn’t his concern right now.

“What did you say?” He had to ask because there was no way he heard what he thought he heard.

And that’s when Shitley grinned. The little shit couldn’t help but go on and one about how Michael had been the one to tell him everything. He shouldn’t be surprised after what happened yesterday, after he saw Michael’s reaction. Yet, something in him thought that Michael would keep it to himself. Even if he did tell someone, he never thought it would be Shitley of all people.

For a second, he didn’t breathe. His stomach clenched, and his heart knotted. There was no way he was standing in the stairwell with Shitley telling him that Michael, sweet Michael who was too timid to make friends on his own, had called him disgusting, and repulsive.

Panic settled in under his skin. It prickled and made the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. He was in danger now. Having something like this known in a school like this meant one thing. At the same time, his heart was breaking and mourning the loss of Michael.

“No.” The word made its way past his lips without his permission. It didn’t make it any less painful. Shitley was still prattling on about whatever. Francis knows he was being made fun of. But he was still in a daze and couldn’t piece out the details of what was being said to him. He told Shitley to fuck off.

He spent the rest of the day feeling like everyone was watching him. There was no doubt that Shitley had told everyone who would listen. And there was no telling who Michael had told. Then again, who would even take Shitley seriously? He was always claiming that someone was a “poof” or a “pervert.” At this point most people ignored him.

There was still a chance, that someone would recognize the target on his back. It was horrible. This feeling of dread kept creeping up when someone looked at him. He was jittery and on edge, even his friends mentioned that he was a bit jumpy today.

“Not sitting with Thompson today?” One of his friends asked when he sat down in Math. Francis shrugged. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation, nor was he going to give one considering the situation.

He just had to make it through the day.

He managed to get out of class a few minutes before the bell by saying he had to go to the bathroom. He made a break for his locker instead. He only had a few minutes until the crowd would come. He grabbed the books he needs for homework and was out of there, before he had to face Shitley.

Before he had to face Michael.

He closed his locker right as everyone started to flood towards the lockers. It wasn’t too hard for him to weave through the students as he made his way to the exit. He would slip out by the music block and take the short cut home. He risked running into Michael that way, but with this head start, he didn’t think he had anything to worry about.

Though, even if he got a glimpse of him it would be nice to see him. He wanted to ask him why. Why would he go so far when Francis had done nothing to him? What was the point of telling Shitley? He understood not liking what he was, but he didn’t get why he would go through such lengths to ruin his life.

Hadn’t Michael gone through his own bullying problem at his old school? So, he should know, better than anyone how bad this kind of thing could be. Yet, he was willing to inflict this pain on others, and over what? Something that Francis had no control of, something he was ashamed of?

He was so muddled in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear when Murray called out to him. It took Holdstock grabbing him by the shoulder to get his attention. Francis jumped at the contact and turned around wide-eyed, almost frantic. He wanted to keep his face in neutral so he could appear stoic, but was unable.

“Woah, you alright?” Holdstock withdrew his hand and gave Francis some space.

“I’m alright.” He answered smoothly. He slipped his hands in his pockets and relaxed his shoulders so he could look more at ease.

“We were gonna take the train down to…” Murray started to explain their plans, but Francis cut him off.

“I gotta get home. Mum will blow if I’m late.” Francis shrugged giving his best apologetic smile. “Next time.” He started to take a step back so he could continue his escape from the school.

“You in a hurry?” Holdstock’s brow furrowed together.

“Yeah. Like I said, my mum…”

“Say no more.”

Francis was glad to have the subject drop. He said one last goodbye as he took off down the hall. He peeked around every corner before he proceeded. Just his luck, he did see Shitley right by the exit, and he wasn’t alone. All his goons were with him. There was no way Francis was taking his chances with that. They hadn’t seen him yet, so he ducked into one of the bathrooms and waited it out in the stalls.

Five minutes. He would wait five minutes and by then even Shitley should be bored enough to go somewhere else. He has to wait it out, in here, in this smelly stale, feeling pathetic. He wasn’t one to run away from a fight. Grant it, he never went looking for one. The school was where he had never felt as if he was backed into a corner, never feared for his safety. Part of him wanted to think he was overreacting. Nothing had happened yet. It had just been a bit of taunting. Then he thought back to what happened to Benedict yesterday, and the cigarette burn that was now on the kid’s hand, and how no one had done anything to stop it.

He was fucked! He knew that much. It was only a matter of time before things escalated. He wasn’t stupid enough to go to his parents. They would be no help, and it wasn’t like he could explain this to them. Well, he could, but not without making things worse for himself. He knew how they felt about this kind of thing.

He sighed and noticed how quiet it was outside. Most of everyone must be gone. He glanced at his watch and figured that now was a good time as any to leave. He slung his bag over his shoulder and exited the stall. He peeked his head out of the bathroom door and saw the coast was clear. He felt relief sweep through him. He just knew that Shitley would be waiting for him.

He smiled to himself as he walked the empty hallways and exited the building. As planned he went by the music block so he could take the shortcut home.

“There you are, Harris!”

Francis cringed. He knew he wouldn’t make it through this bout unscratched. Shitley brought his friends with him. There were about five or six of them following behind Shitley like a pack of dogs. Some smirked, some grin, and one was already snickering.

He could run, but that would kick in the natural instinct of the gang. They would give chase the moment they smelt blood. He could live through another round of verbal harassment. He had to suck it up and wait it out. If he appeared composed and unphased then Shitley would get bored and leave him alone for the day.

This in mind, he turned around and regarded Shitley coolly. His hands slipped into his pockets as he gave a short greeting. He kept his face as neutral as he could. ‘Relax,’ he told himself, ‘Relax and this will all be over.’ But, God, they were starting to surround him. He was trapped face to face with Shitley.

He couldn’t get the tension out of his posture. He knows he looks just as scared as he feels, and Shitley was eating it up. Shitley very leisurely brought a cigarette to his lips. He didn’t care if the smoke was getting in Francis face. This was all for dramatics. No one said a word for a long time as Shitley took another drag and released.

Then he spoke.

He said something about Francis hanging around late after school to give blow jobs. Francis told him to fuck off, but his voice sounded strained even to himself. He was cussing in his head. He needed to pull it together. He needed to get his heart to stop beating out of his chest. He needed to find a way to make this fear dissipate long enough for him to get out of this situation.

But Shitley was talking again. Every word that came from his mouth was disgusting and vile. Francis wasn’t even sure where he had heard about half the stuff. Apparently, it was things, “people like you do.”

It was then Francis did feel that fear go away, and it was replaced with anger. He'd never understand why loving someone of the same gender was considered disgusting or went hand in hand with perverted acts. He wasn’t going to stand around here and take this. With a new resolve, he told Shitley off again and went to leave, but the gang closed in around him. There was no way for him to escape.

He glared down Shitley as he watched the little creep recalculate when he saw he wasn’t getting a response. That was the whole point of this, to get a rise out of the victim and put them back in their place. It was a delicate process that called for a lot of self-control and a touch of finesse. One had to play the part well and talk in a certain tone. Push and pull enough to rile them but be condensing enough for them to know better than to say anything.

So of course, he brought up the one thing he knew would get Francis going. He didn’t even have to say it. There was a casual mention of Francis hitting on someone and getting turned down.

Michael.

If he hadn’t been so fearful of what was to come he would have blushed. He had been rejected not from a romantic relationship, but from a friendship as well. He was still in mourning of that. But, the information took him by surprise. It was one thing for Michael to tell Shitley he was gay, but to tell him of his crush, that was cruel. Francis had never out and out said it, but Michael seemed to read between the lines just fine.

Shitley mocked him for it. He mocked him for being rejected, and for being rejected by Michael. He said it was pathetic that it was Thompson of all people. This, Francis, took to offense. It was stupid, Michael was the reason he was in this mess, but he still couldn’t stand for anyone speaking ill of him.

He can’t even remember what exactly it was that made him punch Shitley, he just knew it was about Michael. Shitley had insulted Michael in the most tasteless way, in the most offensive way. Michael wasn’t here to defend himself, so Francis did.

It was a mistake. The next thing he knew he was on the ground and the blows were raining down on him. He wasn’t sure how long it went on for, he knew that it couldn’t end soon enough. But it kept up, and he was sure he was going to die. He curled in on himself to protect his vitals and his face. One of the guys got in a good kick in the balls, and he moved his legs to cover himself there as well. His shins took quite the pounding as a result.

Time crept and crawled by. He made the mistake of trying to peek up and got another whack to the face. His head was ringing, and he was in pain. He couldn’t even say where he was in pain, he felt it down to his core. It rattled his very being and left him dazed like he was blacking out.

His senses were muffled. His hearing was clouding, and his vision was blurring. It might be because of the blood and the swelling of his eyes. It didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t feel the blows. His body hummed as the numbness spread. And for a second, he had to wonder if he might be dying. There was only pressure now as the hits started to taper off.

It took him a while to realize that his attackers were starting to leave. One by one they left. He got one last kick to the tailbone before they let him be. They left him crumpled on the ground as he struggled to overcome his injuries.

Maybe they hadn’t stopped beating him. Maybe he had died and was now unable to move as his soul prepared to leave his body. The panic from that thought was what caused him to move. His open palm slapped the wet ground as he tried to use it to push himself up.

Now he could feel again. Pain spread through his body like an electric shock. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t cause him agony. He pushed on until he was sitting up in the grass, still trying to get his barring. His head was still throbbing, and his legs didn’t feel like they were strong enough to carry him.

He rolled his shoulders as if they were stiff. They ached, but not as bad as the rest of him. His face was swelling, he could feel it without even looking, but his fingers found their way to check. Sure, enough his cheek and eyelids were starting to get puffy. He found his ribcage hurt when he pressed his hands to it, but it didn’t feel broken.

He was going to continue to struggle to his feet when something caught the corner of his eye. He turned, and he could see Michael standing not too far away from where he was.

 Had he watched this? Had he set everything up and come to enjoy the show? Again, none of it made sense to him. There was no way that Michael would have it in him to do something like this.

Right?

The moment they made eye contact Michael looked nothing but guilty. Francis held him with his gaze for a little longer. He had to admit that he did get the slightest feeling of joy by making Michael squirm for those two seconds. But, Francis wanted to go home. That meant he had to walk past Michael, though at this point he wanted nothing to do with the other teen.

He spits before he got up. His mouth had been filled with blood after a good kick to the mouth and he’s pretty sure he’s missing a tooth. It took everything in him to get his body standing and to move forward. He was going to walk past Michael like he wasn’t even there, but then he called out to him.

“Francis…”

Against his better judgment, he waited to see what Michael had to say.

“I didn’t mean…”

“Save it.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but he was pissed right now. ‘I didn’t mean…’ Didn’t mean to what? Didn’t mean to out you? Didn’t mean to tell Shitley of all people and then come to watch him get his ass kicked?

“I can explain…”

“Save it.” He cut him off again. He couldn’t put up with this. He should keep going, get home so he could treat his wounds, but he was talking now. He was telling Michael he never wanted to see him again. But there was one more thing that bothered him the most.

“How did you know?” Francis knew he wasn’t obvious about his sexuality. He kept that secret close.

“Know, what?” The bastard had the audacity to look confused like he didn’t know what was being asked of him.

“For God’s sake, you slippery, treacherous shit.” He tried to take a deep breath to calm down, but now he was angrier than he was before. “How did you know I was gay? What did I do?” There were a few more questions he had to ask, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice them. He didn’t want Michael to tell him that he knew Francis liked him since they met and that he went along with everything because his mum made him. He didn’t want to know that this was the only way that Michael could think of to get rid of him.

“But you’re not gay. You’re not gay. You’re not.”

He said it with such conviction that for a second Francis almost believed that Michael didn’t know.

“What are you talking about?” Francis narrowed his eyes. What the hell.

“You’re not gay. You’re not. Gay. Are you?”

“Jesus, Thompson, what the fuck,” Francis couldn’t help but laugh now. What else was he supposed to do in such a fucked-up situation? “What do you think this is all about?” This had to be some sort of sick mind game.

“Have a nice life Michael.” He didn’t give him more than a glance as he walked away, leaving Michael to stumble over his own words. He had to get going. By now he had missed the train home. There was a less direct line he could take, but it would take longer. His brothers were home by now unless they waited for him. He doubts that they did.

He trudged on trying to ignore the pain and discomfort. It hurt to walk, but he had to put one foot in front of the other to get home. Calling his parents to pick him up wasn’t an option. So, he boarded the train and tried not to pay attention to the looks he was getting.

He knows he looks bad. His eye had swollen shut and his split lip felt like a balloon. His clothes were covered in dirt and blood. It was obvious that he got jumped and lost. One woman sat down next to him and smile softly. She handed him a tissue from her purse so he could wipe his face off.

“Did you get into a fight sweetheart?” The way she was asking he could tell she was a mom. It wasn’t in her words that he discovered this, but her tone. Her voice was soothing and kind. She didn’t pry when he only shrugged as he wiped the dirt and blood from his face.

“Are you on your way home?” She was nothing but concerned for him.

“Yeah. My stop is up next.” He could tell her at least that much.

“Do you need someone to walk you the rest of the way?”

“No. I’ll be fine. It’s a short distance from here.”

“Make sure you ice that.” She frowned looking at his swollen eye. “It won’t do much for the swelling, but it should help with the pain.”

“That’s the plan.” He tried to smile but it hurt to talk.

“Get some rest alright.” She made him promise as the train rolled to a stop and he stood up to get off.

“I will.” He waved as he got off. In reality, he had quite a hike until he got home. He checked his phone to look at the time. He was close to an hour late getting home. There weren’t any messages or missed calls from his parents yet.

He sighed, not out of relief, but because the rest of his journey was uphill and he thinks his legs might be about to give out. He kept going. It wasn’t until he got closer to the house that he realized he didn’t want to go inside. Yes, he wanted to lay down and rest, but he didn’t want to step into the chaos that he knew was there. He didn’t have it in him to deal with his siblings and his parents.

He sat on the curb a little way from his house. It was chilly out. It wasn’t the kind of day where he could stay out for the night, and it wasn’t like he could go to a friend’s place either. They would ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

Reluctantly he got up and finished his travel. He put his key in the lock and turned the nob. Sure, enough he could hear his mother talking frantically in the other room. He wasn’t sure what was wrong this time around. If it wasn’t one thing with this family, then it was another.

“Michael hit Luke.” One of his siblings informed him.

It felt like a slap in the face. Was this all because of what happened at school? Was Michael targeting his family because Francis was…No that couldn’t be it? There was no way that…

“What happened to you?” His father asked nonchalantly. He had an icepack in his hand.

“I got into a fight.”

The man nodded and went to where Luke was. Francis’s mom was at the young boy’s side trying to comfort him. He watched as his dad tenderly pressed the icepack to Luke’s swollen cheek.

“The swelling still won’t go down.” His mother as still worried almost frantic. “I’m gonna take him to the hospital. I’m worried his jaw might be broken.” She got up to grab her purse. She paused for only a second when she saw Francis. She didn’t say anything about him being late. “Clean yourself up,” was all she said.

Francis waited for them to leave before he went to the bathroom to wash the blood from his face. He locked himself in for privacy. He ran warm water on a washcloth and brought it to his face. He flinched when the surface of the cloth made contact with his open wounds. It stings his eye and burns his lips.

He fought back a whimper as he looked at himself in the mirror. Stupid, he thought. He was stupid to let himself get into this kind of situation. He was stupid for trusting Thompson and thinking he was any different than the rest of the guys at school. And he was an idiot, for still feeling something for this guy, and hoping that this was all a bad dream and that they could go back to normal. Every time he wiped his face the more it hurt.

But he got it done. He got the dirt off, and most of the blood. He agitated some of the wounds without meaning to and they started to bleed again. He checked himself in the mirror to make sure he got most of it and didn’t he look pathetic in this tiny mirror. Eye swollen, lip busted, and his face pained black and blue.

He gasped as he put the cloth to his busted lip. He tried to be quiet. He didn’t want to worry his family by making too much noise. Then again, who would care? He knows how his parents feel about sexuality. They would be glad someone gave him this busted lip if he explained what really happened.

It was now that the whole situation started to come down on him. He tried to push it back but all that did was make them catch in his throat and build until he a sob escaped his lips. He couldn’t stand to look at himself and a cry broke past his lips, and he found himself sinking to the floor. His knees were pulled to his chest and he covered his face as he tried not to be any louder than he already was.

He must have failed because there was a knock on the door and one of his little sisters asked if he was okay.

“I’m fine,” he sniffled. “Give me a second and I’ll be out in a bit okay?” He knows he wasn’t believable, but he knew they would back off as long as he answered. Everything was sore and bruised. Each movement was more excruciating than the last.

But he made himself get up, made himself leave the bathroom and be productive. He had school tomorrow, so he had to do his homework. It was also getting late so he had to make sure to get the younger ones fed and help them get ready for bed.

Leftovers. There should be something left from last night in the refrigerator he could heat up. Thank God there was. He wasn’t up to cooking right now. And for once the kids didn’t give him hell. He knows it’s because he looks like he feels, but he’ll take his victories where he can get them for now.

He laid down while they ate. He was able to keep the lights off so he could nurse his headache. With how hard he was hit, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had a concussion. He lay on his stomach despite the pain in his ribs. It was more comfortable to be like this than on his back. He could close his eyes and ignore the persistent pangs of pain that sounded from every corner of his body, reminding him of every blow he had taken.

Michael.

He let out a groan trying to relive the pressure in his chest from his pain and piling emotions. It hurt to think about it. They had been friends yesterday and now he was laying here bruised and broken because of Michael. And he had stood there and watched him get the shit knocked out of him. Not that he expected Michael to stand up for him. That was unrealistic considering how he’d seen Michael decide to be a bystander, like the rest of the school.

But to stand there and not even say anything, and then pretend to be innocent the moment he was confronted. He felt anger expand in his chest when he thought back to it. “You’re not? Are you?” Somehow, he managed to look befuddled like this was news to him like he hadn’t been the one to tell Shitley. It was even more concerning when he saw the way Michael could fake it, how he could put on an act when he wanted to.

Francis found himself laughing. Only a short wheezy puff of breath came out before he remembered that he was still hurt. He had been eager when Ms. Thompson mentioned wanting her son to make friends before he started school. He had heard the brief conversations between the adult about the situation when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. Michael had been bullied at his old school. Francis knew that coming from that kind of environment would leave the poor kid with a target on his back.

And look where his goodwill had gotten him. At least those few months of companionship were nice. He thought that Michael was a friend. Maybe even one of those friends who lasted throughout the years and into adulthood. And sometimes, he would allow himself to daydream what it would be like if Michael embraced him like a lover. What it would be like if they built a future together.

He knew it wouldn’t happen. But on days when he was lonely or after a good Saturday afternoon, he pictured himself confessing to Michael, and Michael would let him kiss him, pull him close…

But it was a fantasy, like Evgard.

He only stopped his self-loathing when he heard one of the girls making a fuss at the front door. He groaned as he got up. He keeps telling them not to open the door but no one listens. He could tell from the voice that it was Mary who was giving someone a hard time to go. Then he heard the voice and realized that it was Michael who she was talking to.

He didn’t have it in him to deal with this. But he found himself ushering Michael into the ally by his house. This was his secret place. It’s where he went when he wanted to get away from his family, from everyone, from reality. Or on those days when it was too hard to think about Evgard without tainting it with his anger and sadness.

So it only seemed natural that he and Michael would have it out here. He resented having to stand there through Michael lame repetitive apology. He kept insisting that he had to explain everything and then would go on to say nothing. Adding insult to injury, he'd given Francis a garbage bag that filled with Evgard. Francis had been expecting to find maps, and books. Instead, he found himself looking at a bag filled with garbage. Was this all some sort of joke to Michael? Because of none of this made sense.

By the time they were done, and Michael had run off and Francis couldn’t shake the feeling he was missing something. He sighed and winced. Standing in the ally wasn’t doing him any good, so he turned and went back to the house. Mary was there, the moment he crossed the threshold, demanding to know what was going on.

She was being a kid, but Francis was too exhausted to deal with it right now. Instead, he busied himself making sure that they all got ready for bed. The protest from them was to be expected. None of them wanted to go to bed until they knew if Luke was going to be okay.

“Mom took him to the hospital, so it must be bad!” was the reasoning. Francis chuckled despite himself. She would drag them to the hospital for a papercut. It was just a slap to the face, and Michael wasn’t strong enough to do that kind of damage.

“He’ll be fine,” Francis tried to sound comforting, but it was hard to do that with a busted lip. It seemed to do the trick though. They didn’t put up a fight for the rest of the night and Francis was finally able to rest.

This time he opted to lay on his side. He had taken it upon himself to wait up until Luke came home. He wanted to get the full story as to what happened. Not that he was looking for it to be Luke’s fault, so he could forgive Michael. He wanted this all to make sense. Maybe there as more to it, something else that had happened in-between for Michael to go that far.

“It’s the worst thing,” Michael had reasoned when he tried to explain why he had outed Francis to Shitley.

The worst thing.

It still stung to know that, that was how Michael thought, what he thought of him.

The worst thing.

“You okay?” A small voice asked from the darkness. Francis recognized it as Philip’s. The younger boy was standing by Francis’s bunk looking down on him with worry.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Francis sat up on his elbows. “Why, what’s up?”

“You came in looking pretty battered.” Philip was never one to beat around the bush. He didn’t talk much, but when he did it was for a reason

“It was just a fight. I’ll heal up in no time.”

“Is it because of what happened with Shipley?”

Francis felt his stomach drop. If Philip knew then it was only a matter of time before…

“Because you stopped him from picking on that kid? Some of the other kids mentioned in class.”

“More or less,” Francis let himself relax, but now Philip had a strange look on his face. Much like Francis, the kid knew how to keep a poker face. It was only through brief movement and the way his eyes moved that anyone could tell what he was thinking. His gaze flicked to Francis black eye then to his busted lips, and to his hands.

“If you stand up for everyone else, how come you didn’t fight back?” Philip asked but it wasn’t a question. “Even if there are a lot of them…”

“Hey, I put up a good fight…”

Philip frowned looking at Francis' hands again. He didn’t say anything for a while before he left. “Even if you don’t tell Mom and Dad, you should let someone know before things get worse.”

“Alright, I will. Now head to bed, you have school tomorrow.”

Philip let out a huff before he left.

Finally, alone again he went back to laying completely still. It didn’t do him much good. Besides, most of this wasn’t physical pain.

~.~.~.~.~

His parents didn’t get in with Luke until about four in the morning. There was nothing wrong with Luke’s jaw. It swelled a lot, but the swelling should be down by the end of the day as long as they kept icing it. It was late enough that Luke got to stay home from school since he had been out all night. Lucky bastard.

He could hear his parents doting on Luke a bit longer before they let him go to bed. Luke was the sneaky ninja type. He knew how to tiptoe around and not bring attention to himself. It only paid off for the others when he was trying to get into the room without waking anyone up.

“You okay?” Francis sat up as he spoke, which Luke wasn’t expecting, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“I’m fine.” He squeaked holding his ice pack to his cheek. “I…what happened to you?”

“I ended up being Shitley’s shit pick of the week,” Francis said evenly.

“Do Mom and Dad know?” Luke turned on the bedside lamp and only looked more horrified by what he saw. “You should have…”

Francis held up his hand to silence him and said, “They know.” He felt bad when he was curt like this with his siblings. There was a bit of confusion amongst the younger ones when stuff like this happened. They didn't know why Francis was treated differently.

“I have a question for you,” Francis changed the subject. “What happened between you and Michael?”

“He hit me,” Luke huffed plopping down on his bed.

“Why? What happened?”

“You’re just gonna defend him. You always do.”

“I’m trying to figure out what happened,” Francis sighed. “Can you tell me?”

“You’re gonna get mad.”

“I’ll all ears.”

Luke looked away and put the icepack down so he could fiddle with his hands. He didn’t want to have to say anything and was going to stale as long as he could.

“Come on Luke.”

“Can’t we just say Michael is crazy and leave it at that. I didn’t even do anything that bad.”

Francis scowled. He would have to press a few buttons before he got the kid to talk. It was a matter of making sure things didn’t escalate to the point his parents felt the need to check on them. Regardless he only had a little bit more time before his mom came upstairs to peek in on Luke.

“Michael stopped by and he said it was your fault, and that you did something,” Francis said smoothly.

“And you believe him?” Luke’s voice pitched, and his eyes widen at the accusation.

“I think you did something, but not something to warrant him hitting you. I’m trying to piece the whole story together, and he didn’t give me much to work with.”

Luke was pouting and fuming, and Francis thought it would take a small push to get him to talk.

“All I did was put a note in his locker. I saw the map you were working on for that thing. I don’t know what it’s called. I put a note that said I saw it. That’s it, but he caught me the second time and jacked me against the locker and he hit me.”

“That’s it?”

“I might have said some other things.”

“Like?”

“Like that, you were cool before you started hanging out with him. And you were. You used to actually do stuff, and now you go over to Thompson’s all the time, and you’re never home. And normally you wouldn’t have minded going paint-balling with me, and now it always about Thompson.”

“So why put the note in his locker.”

“Well, you got mad when I saw the map in your draw.”

“Because you weren’t supposed to be in my stuff.” Francis clarified.

“Yeah but…I figured it was whatever you and Michael are always working on. Cause it was in the envelope and you only have those after coming back from his place. So it had to be a secret project or something. And I thought if he saw the note, he would get mad that you told and not talk to you and we could go paintballing this weekend.”

Francis sighed. He could see the logic in it. Luke was just a kid so he didn’t understand the delicacy of the situation and how fragile Michael was, and how the smallest things could set him off. At the same time, he could understand Luke’s frustration in wanting to spend time together once in a while. Normally it would have been a harmless prank that would get cleared up a few days later or something.

Instead, it ended with Luke’s face swollen and Francis battered.

“You want the ice pack?” Luke extended his hand to offer the frozen pouch he’d been holding to his face.

“Nah, I’ll be alright.” Francis settled back down.

“Are you mad at me?” Luke asked.

“No,” and he wasn’t. Things shouldn’t have come to this. Michael had no right to hit his brother, especially over something like this. Still, he wanted to talk to him one last time to see if he could wrangle the story out of Michael and see if it matched up.

“Get some sleep,” Francis sighed looking at the clock. It was only a few more hours until he had to get up and face the day.

“You’re not going in, are you?” Luke asked. “There’s no way…”

“Can’t let them see me sweat,” Francis reasoned. “They won’t go after me again for a while. Don’t worry about it.”

~.~.~.~.~

The teachers made a big fuss over what had happened. They hadn’t seen the beating, but they insisted that he reported it, which was out of the question. He all but had to plead with his homeroom teach not to call his parents. It was a delicate process because he couldn’t seem desperate for them not to call. He said that he had told them and that it was a onetime fight, not a bullying problem.

It would have been more believable if Francis wasn’t in isolation at the moment. The other kids weren’t talking to him, wouldn’t sit next to him, and wouldn’t come near him. It meant he was marked, that Shitley would be coming back for him.

It was a relief. At first, he feared that everyone in the school believed what Shitley had said and wanted nothing to do with him. Then he realized if that was the case, he would be getting harassed more often. There was the occasional push and shove from one of Shitley’s goons, or a bit name-calling, but he could handle it. He could make it through the day.

Right now, he was focused on finding Michael. The little bugger kept darting out of class before he could catch up to him. He almost had him at the lockers, but Michael was quick in his comings and goings. It wasn’t until the period before lunch that Francis started to think that it might not be on purpose. Michael was clearly mad and brooding in his own head. He must still be mad about what happened in the ally last night.

When he did corner him, he had to expect all hell to break loose. Yes, Michael was skittish and scared, but Francis knew that he would lash out if he felt threatened. He had punched Francis over that map when they had first met. More than that, there were times when he could see the rage that bubbled under the surface when Michael was mad. It was clear he wanted to burst at the time, but never did. Well, there was yesterday when he punched the lockers. That was also over the whole Evgrad problem. He didn’t doubt that he was still high-strung right now.

All the same, Francis stood his ground, wouldn’t allow Michael to leave until they sorted this out. He blocked the door to the room with his body and refused to move. There was a small scuffle as Michael tried to physically remove him. Francis moved so he was in front of the knob. The blunt metal dug uncomfortably into his back.

Michael threatened to hit him, and Francis told him he could. He turned his bruise side to him and gave him an opening. He told him he wouldn’t hit back. And somehow that seemed to make Michael calm down.

“I want to know what happened,” Francis said. But before he could get to the bottom of it Shitley found them.

Things snowballed from there. Shitley and Michael got into it, verbally. But it didn’t take long for it to escalate and Shitley shoved Michael out the window. They had only been on the second floor, so Michael was okay. Francis looked out the window and saw him moving before he rushed past Shitley to make sure.

But by the time he got there, no one was being allowed near him. And the next thing he knew Michael was being carted off to the hospital.

~.~.~.~.~

It wasn’t hard to get past Ms. Thompson to see Michael. She had always been glad that Michael had at least one friend and thought Francis to be a saint. She wasn’t one to hover and let them be as she went to get them snacks.

“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on,” France asked. “I had to pull the truth out of Luke, but Christ, Michael, why didn’t you just say something?”

He had to wait for Michael to collect his thoughts and explain everything. How he thought Francis had been laughing at him, and how he thought Francis thought Evgard wasn’t important. Because to Michael, it mattered more than anything. And Francis understood this, knew this.

Evgard had become his escape too. A place away from his family and the real world. Some place only he and Michael knew. Yet, he couldn’t say it didn’t hurt that Michael valued Evgard over him. He’d hoped that their friendship meant more than that.

“Do you still think that?” Francis challenged. He had to know if after everything they’ve gone through he still felt that way. Michael couldn’t meet his eyes as if he was ashamed. Francis could feel him thinking of the proper way to say it, but in the end, he didn’t speak.

It was then Francis realized Michael was morning the loss of Evgard because he thought that he burnt it last night. Once he pulled the real thing from the rubies bin things became lighter. They laid out all the maps, all the drawings, the letters and stories, and most importantly, the book. Michael was a bit melancholy realizing that Evgard was done. He looked as if he was considering tossing everything out anyway.

“Can I have it?” Francis didn’t want everything they accomplished to disappear like it never happened. But he also knows that Michael closely guarded this secret of theirs. If he didn’t trust him before, then he might not trust him now.

“Okay,” Michael finally decided.

“Really? Are you sure?”

Michael smiled at him and nodded as he offered all of Evgard to Francis.

“Thank you,” Francis said. Then Michael stuck his hand out as if to shake hands and makeup. Francis didn’t hesitate to grasp it. Michael blushed and started to stammer. He worried that Francis would take the gesture the wrong way.

He couldn’t help but laugh, “I know you're not attracted to me, Thompson. I’m not a bloody idiot.” Francis had been painfully aware of Michaels lack of interest. He still valued his friendship, but he couldn’t deny the sting he felt when he thought of what could be.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said and for a second Francis thought that Michael had sussed it and knew what he felt for him. “I’m really sorry. I mean about…”

“Shut up,” Francis could actually laugh a bit as the ridiculousness of the situation settled in. This had been one big misunderstanding and they both ended up with the short end of the stick. “Forget about it, okay.”

And just like that, they had made up. It felt like all their troubles evaporated as they awkwardly held hands in Michael’s kitchen.

“I got to get going,” Francis finally said, letting go of Michael’s hand. He couldn’t be late two days in a row and by now the school had called his family to let them know about the incident.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Michael said.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> I always wished we got more of Francis's narrative during the story. There were just a few things about his character that stuck out to me, namely the way his parents took Luke to the hospital but left him at home. Anyways I hope this was worth the wait. ^^


End file.
